


Haze

by audioletter



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canto Bight, Drabbles, F/M, Kyle Goes Rogue, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audioletter/pseuds/audioletter
Summary: He disappears.





	Haze

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble, inspired by Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan's version of 'The Girl from the North Country'. Thanks to Jordan.

He disappears.

She’s closed the door; figuratively and mentally, and he imagines his mother’s funeral from afar. The telenews shows him the details - simple, quiet, like she’d wanted, and he spots Rey amongst the crowd like a beacon. Black dress, folds around her waist and fur at her neck, and she’s beautiful.

It’s too much, so he goes to the worst place a person like he should be. 

Canto Bight is women, excess and alcohol. He doesn’t know much of any of those things, but learns quickly. He drinks, gambles and learns about the soft curves of the opposite sex, while dreaming of brown hair in pulled knots and soft, _illegal_ hands. Mostly, it’s her eyes - brown, muted yet alive, full of hope for someone he wasn’t sure he could be once he pulled a lightsaber through his own father’s chest.

_He would have disappointed you_ , he told her, but he remembers nothing but good about Han in face of his mother’s death. Them dancing in the galley, pulling him to their waists and circling him close in a room full of laughter, and closing his eyes leaves him with nothing but red, pain, memory - so he drinks. Takes the substances offered, the girls passed to him, but he’s nothing, really, anyway. 

It’s a haze, but one he’s deserved. One he _deserves_ , and the stale starch of Canto Bight’s best opiate burns as it goes down, a mixer of fire, soft brown eyes and a world long gone. 

It's blank here. He stares to nothing, and nothing stares back.

He opens his eyes after a long night he can't remember, and she’s there. She’s found him (easily, probably, despite trying to block their minds melding), a mix of hatred and concern in her eyes, her lightsaber in hand but not drawn. Nothing is said, because he knows she’s come from somewhere, anywhere; it doesn’t matter and he looks to the floor where a nameless woman’s dress lays at her feet with the appropriate amount of apathy and embarrassment it affords.

Nothing is said, as she steps over the dress and moves, surprisingly into the bed. Eye to eye, now, his head foggy and not sure of what is happening. Then -

“You need to come home.”

It’s not a word he knew before, but in face of those eyes, he understands.


End file.
